


Stench of the Unburied

by theflyingdalek



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingdalek/pseuds/theflyingdalek
Summary: Last night, Silver had taken Flint’s confession about Thomas Hamilton as a gift.Now, in the light of day, he took it as a warning of danger to come. There was something so unreasoned about the whole damned thing that Silver couldn’t help running through what possible reasoning Flint could have had in revealing this information.





	Stench of the Unburied

Last night, Silver had taken Flint’s confession about Thomas Hamilton as a gift. 

Now, in the light of day, he took it as a warning of danger to come. There was something so unreasoned about the whole damned thing that Silver couldn’t help running through what possible reasoning Flint could have had in revealing this information.

It was infuriating. Silver couldn’t help but rage at Flint’s constant death wish. _This_ , this was the type of thing you prayed that men like John Silver would never find, if there were other men like John Silver. This was kind of thing he could take apart, twist til ugly, and then use as the fiercest, most dangerous of weapons. This could be Flint’s undoing. 

And yet Flint didn’t do things without a reason. He probably spent time considering whether to take his first breath each morning. Silver didn’t believe that Flint would have offered up this piece of him without weeks and weeks of disgruntled miserable consideration.

Flint, unsurprisingly, was not thinking about Silver but was distracted by thoughts of his war. As Flint sat by the fire, Silver could see him mentally run through possible moves and deviations from their plans, one by one. 

“Why tell me?” Silver asked aloud, though he was unsure if Flint would even hear him in this state.

There’s a long moment of silence. 

John was just about to accept that Flint wasn’t in the mind to hear anything when Flint stiffened almost imperceptibly. 

“I thought I had already explained myself,” Flint replied with a carefully even tone. 

At least Flint wasn’t playing dumb.

Silver paused for a moment as a fresh and dangerous thought flitted across his mind.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

Strangely, Silver felt no fear. He was simply curious at this point. If Flint meant to kill him, then Flint would simply have to be stopped. Silver idly wondered where his instincts of self-preservation had gone. When they had been replaced by blind faith in the man in front of him. 

Flint would always have his reasons for what he did, and while Silver didn’t always agree with them, he finally found himself somewhat at peace about it. It was a constant, like the swaying of the sea beneath a ship. 

Flint stood perfectly still as he held John’s gaze. John had to suppress a shiver. The tension mounted for a moment, and then Flint deflated, just slightly.

“No, I am not going to kill you.”

He sounded annoyed. Not at the question or at John, but at himself. 

Silver couldn’t help himself, as he took a step forward. He was like a moth drawn to the light, not really caring what the light source was or how potentially dangerous it could grow. 

_“Why?”_ Silver insisted. 

He could feel that he was nearing a dangerous precipice. But he refused to relent. Everywhere around them, there was chaos, destruction, plans and betrayals and impossible hopes. John knew that all of that, all the world contained, meant nothing except that at a time like this, anything could happen. He felt like he could grab lightning from the sky and bottle it. 

Flint simply grunted at the question, and Silver knew instantly that there would be no real answers tonight. 

Instead of lounging about and playing his usual role, he decided to leave Flint to his musings. Perhaps Silver could scrounge a drink off someone nearby. God knows he deserved one. Anyone who attempted to slip into the cracks of Captain James Flint’s mind deserved some reward for their impossible toiling. 

As Silver began to meander away from where Flint sat, he wondered wondered what kind of man Thomas Hamilton really had been. He knew more than anyone how clouded a man’s eyes could get when tinged by the blurriness of love. It affected even the most rational of men, the most steadfast.

He imagined Thomas Hamilton handsome, full of folly, and very naïve. Men only ever had the chance to really be good if they were ignorant, closed off from the world. Those who were planted in the mud and not aristocratic parlor rooms, those men had different roles to play. 

Silver wondered why it irked him so much that the man Flint had loved seemed so directly his opposite. As Flint described Hamilton, it felt as if he were making a list of the things Silver was not. Kind, honest, good. 

But then he remembered that Thomas Hamilton was dead in the ground, as was James McGraw. Captain Flint and John Silver, they were alive, and they were together.

John wondered if Thomas Hamilton would have changed his mind about his fight if he learned to understand the costs of war. He wondered what Hamilton would have thought about the rage that now flowed through Flint’s veins. John wondered if Thomas Hamilton could love Captain James Flint the way that John Silver did.

Silver was not a vain man, nor had he ever thought of himself as a jealous one. Perhaps it would be better to say that he was realistic. He knew what he looked like, what pieces of him he could play to his advantage, what pieces would be best hidden in most circumstances. His body, like his mind, was a tool, something meant to get him closer to what he wanted. He lived his life doling out pieces of himself in consumable packets, dressing it up with clever stories and amicable smiles. 

Flint had become the odd one to truly understand Silver, not in an attempt to take him apart or to torture him, but simply because Flint played chess, and to do so, he needed to understand the workings of each relevant piece. Silver was relevant, and thus, necessary to understand.

It took John a while to learn that though Flint did not know everything about Silver, he did see him. And miraculously, Flint understood. Maybe he didn’t trust completely, but Silver could not fault him that. Silver was not a man to be trusted. 

Even after all this time, Flint always kept a wary eye on Silver. Silver could feel whenever they spoke, whenever they sat down to make a plan. Flint never failed to run through the numbers, deciding how likely it would be that this time, Silver would betray him. 

And yet, despite that, he had still given Silver the prize of all prizes. 

Not only a story about a past love, but a story about the creation of the man himself. The birth of Captain Flint himself. The birth of his pain and his war. It had cast a new light on Silver’s point of view, made him feel foolish for thinking he had known anything at all about Flint prior to this revelation. To think that reading his moods and behaviors meant knowing the man when, all along, _this_ lay below the surface. 

It felt like Flint had handed Silver a loaded pistol, with the barrel pointed towards Flint’s heart. It was heady. It was intoxicating. 

But what did it mean? What was Flint trying to say? Was he trying to say anything at all? Silver had never felt so infuriated by another person in his entire life. Silver knew from experience that Flint could justify most any behavior as long as he truly believed he was right. He’d kill a man in his sleep without second guessing it, but only if he had a reason. So far, it had worked well for him, and for Silver as well. But following Flint was like walking blindfolded. It worked fine so long as he didn’t really think about it. The moment he questioned his step would be the moment he would stumble, and everything could fall apart. 

Silver thought back to a conversation he had overheard on the Walrus weeks ago. It already felt like an eternity.

“Their names will last longer than yours”  
“I could be as ruthless as Flint,”  
“Hah. You’d go mad after ten minutes of being in that man’s mind.”  
“He’s mad already,”  
“Maybe. But he hasn’t lost his wits. He’s a man knows what he wants and knows how to get it.”  
“And Silver?”  
“Silver? They’re a pair, aren’t they?”  
“I guess. I just, they seem so different.”  
“Once you’ve been at sea longer, you’ll learn.”  
“Learn what?”  
“What love between two men looks like.”  
“Love? The Captain and Silver? Fuck off.”

There had been a slight lull in the conversation then.

“Love looks different when it is on the sea. And it definitely looks different when it comes from a man like Captain Flint.”  
“D’you think Silver returns… I mean, are they…?”  
“There are questions that aren’t meant to be asked. Maybe one day we’ll know. Maybe they don’t even know. Men will lie to themselves, you know.”

 _Men will lie to themselves_. Silver had never heard anything more fucking applicable to his current situation.

\--

Later, when Silver was holding an actual loaded pistol directed at Flint’s actual beating heart, he couldn’t help but ask once again. 

“Why?”

Flint closed his eyes, finally relenting. 

“Because you already held my fate in your hands.”

Silver let the pistol drop from his hand. 

The blood was pounding so loudly in his ears, he could not hear it hit the sand. Flint rushed towards him, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Silver’s. They stood there for a long time, breathing in the same air.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. This pair stomps on my heart. 
> 
> Title from The Mountain Goats


End file.
